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<title>The Seven days of Christmas by Anonymous</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28239081">The Seven days of Christmas</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: Enterprise</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Christmas, Friendship, Gen, meeting the goddamn crew</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:22:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>421</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28239081</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven christmasses in Jonathan Archer's life</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Seven days of Christmas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For my friend Shelby!!! From the US's lilac server</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>14</p><p> </p><p>The first year without his dad. It's a bitter one. </p><p> </p><p>The faint sunlight of the bright sun, beat down on the face of the crying boy. The sound of waves, in the distance, soothed his ears with their repetitive nature. Birds chirped around him, singing a precious, haunting memory. </p><p> </p><p>The still water of the rockpool serves as a place where he can hang his legs down, feeling the smooth pebbles and shells underneath his feet. </p><p> </p><p>The birds chirp a little louder now.</p><p> </p><p>This was home he reminded himself, the home where he ran out with his remote controlled plane, the home where he scooped up lobsters and crabs and watched them scuttle back into the sea, the home where he and his dad used to watch the sun dip below the horizon.</p><p> </p><p>His mother was probably looking for him, worried about him, worried that he would catch a cold. She was right, by all logical sense, right that she worried about him. But he didn't want to go back. </p><p> </p><p>He'd always come out here, after eating the last of the turkey, with his dad. To go rock pool dipping, where the two of them would run through all the rock pools they could find. Getting a kick out of the freezing water.</p><p> </p><p>He never really understood the need to jump in the freezing cold, but he didn't give it much thought. It was fun, it was exciting and it was definitely a family tradition to keep. </p><p> </p><p>But most of all, it was something fun to do with his dad. </p><p> </p><p>His face hardened with despair, and he snivelled, it's been two whole months since it happened. He still hasn't got over it.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe he never will.</p><p> </p><p>He stared out up into the cloudy sky, breathing in the chilling breeze rushing at him, the gust blowing his brown hair out of his eyes, and tousling it. The tears in his eyes are warm as they run down his frozen cheek, and he wiped them away with a trembling hand.</p><p> </p><p>The large windbreaker on him keeps his body warm, but his fingers still feel like they're about to freeze off. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn't know if he'd ever fit into the shoes his father left vacant. </p><p> </p><p>Tears started to drip down his face once again, and he stood up, head still dizzy. </p><p> </p><p>Christmas wasn't meant to be spent like this, it was supposed to be spent with loved ones. Bonding over a hearty lunch, caring about each other.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't want to celebrate it again.</p><p> </p>
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